Hours and Days and Maybe Years
by Rhapsody Belle
Summary: In the dawn of the day after the Battle of Hogwart's, Harry reflects on those who are lost before undertaking his final task. Oneshot.


Dawn crept over the horizon as if reluctant to bear witness to the devastation of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry sat on the wide steps of the main entrance and let the rising sun wash over his face, but the light had none of its customary warmth and succor for him. Though all he'd wanted to do the night before had been crawl into his four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower and allow his house elf to attend to him, sleep chased him around with half-coherent dreams of noxious green curses and high cold laughter until he'd been driven out by it.

He'd been sitting out here for an hour before sunrise, waiting for the dawn to see if that old Muggle saying of a new, better day would hold true for the wizarding world as well. So far, he was disappointed.

The sun cleared the horizon, and birdsong echoed from the edges of the Forbidden Forest. Golden light shone down on the grounds, and it was easy to imagine it healing the wounds the land had taken the night before. It was so easy to believe that every hurt, every scar, would be washed away and everything would be alright.

But he knew that it _wasn't_ that easy. Though the light suffused the school grounds, he could still see the bloodstains, the pressed-down grass where bodies had lain, still smell smoke and scorched things in the air. The dead had been removed from the grounds, Death Eater, werewolf, giant, centaur and Hogwarts affiliated alike, but he could still see them all in his mind's eye. He could hear a high, cold voice ringing out over the meadow. He could still see the procession of Dark wizards coming from the

He knew that history books would later hail this as a triumph of modern wizarding history, the day Lord Voldemort was defeated for the last time. He knew that his name would live on, the Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who Triumphed, the Boy Who Died and Returned Again. His efforts would endure in the pages of history, and would be taught to the succeeding generations of witches and wizards.

He also knew that the names of those who had fought most bravely would be lost within a few decades. Only the families would remember the names of the true heroes, and only the families would celebrate their lives mingled pride and sorrow, and even then, within a handful of generations, that tradition would stop and only on special occasions would the names be dusted off and brought out. Give it a hundred years or so, and no one would remember at all.

Except for him. The Boy-Who-Lived. The bloody effing Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry hated it. He had done what he needed to do, no more. Whether it had been prophesy or just pure dumb luck, he'd won. The Light Side had triumphed, and both the wizarding world and the Muggle community were safe once again. No one person had seen to its doing, but only one would be remembered for it, and he could not see the fairness in that.

He sighed and leaned back against the steps, looking over the grounds. They'd chosen to fight. They'd all chosen to fight. Yet he had to wonder if it was worth so many lives lost.

Little Colin Creevey would never be a contributor to any of the wizarding and Muggle magazines that he'd planned on submitting to. He'd never open that photography gallery Harry'd overheard him telling his mates about. He had looked so tiny, so young, in death.

Lupin and Tonks, so newly married, so newly parents. Another son would grow up not knowing his parents due to the actions of Voldemort, but if Harry had anything to say about it, little Teddy would know that his parents loved and died for him.

Severus Snape was probably better off in death, away from the life that had beaten him down every chance it got. It gave Harry an odd turn to think of Snape in that way. He was accustomed to viewing his former Potions teacher as a greasy git, loyal to Voldemort, hater of all things Potter and murderer of Dumbledore. After sifting through the man's memories in the Pensieve, his views had changed, and he wasn't sure how comfortable he felt with that yet.

And Fred Weasley… He'd never again open the doors of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for business with his customary cocky grin. He'd never again prank a firstie with a Skiving Snackbox or a Canary Cream. He'd never invent anything for the mischievous-minded of Hogwarts. He'd never finish George's sentences, and he'd never have sentences for George to finish.

His heart gave another particular lurch as he flashed back to the scene in the Great Hall the previous evening after all was said and done. The Weasley family, crowded around their dead son and brother, a riot of bright red hair bent as close to Fred as they could get. Hermione's head buried in Ron's shoulder, with Ron's arm around hers. Molly and Arthur clinging to George, and Ginny holding Fred's hand.

He sighed. _Ginny…_

_Well, Prongslet, if there's one thing this entire war business should have taught you, it's that life's short. If you don't do it now, there may never be another chance._

_Carpe diem, cub._

Harry started, and jerked his head up. "Sirius? Remus?" He scanned the empty grounds, expecting to see translucent forms, werewolf and dog, or two lifelong family members. But only an empty lawn, a few trees and a sunrise-kissed sky met his eyes.

Oddly, he found himself smiling. "Alright, Snuffles. Alright, Moony," he said quietly, and pushed himself back to his feet. "Alright."

---------------

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting when he'd asked Ginny for a word later that evening. He'd treated her abysmally for the better part of two years, all under the guise of her protection, and he wouldn't at all have been surprised if she called him a ruddy bastard and told him to go to hell. So when she looked up at him with exhausted, tear-reddened eyes and quietly nodded, he felt relief so sudden it made him giddy.

They walked together to the shores of the Black Lake. The sun was still in the process of setting, spilling red-gold light across the water. It made for a very romantic scene, Harry thought. He hoped it would not be wasted.

He turned to face Ginny and took both her hands in his own, thankful that her fingers looped through his instead of pushing him away. He took one deep breath, and then another, trying to quell the sudden nervousness in his stomach. "Ginny…"

She tilted her head at him, staring quizzically between his face and their joined hands. "Harry, what's going on?"

"I haven't rehearsed this or anything," he said and followed her gaze down to their hands. He gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. "So it might come out a little garbled. But I'll do my best, okay?"

She frowned at him. "Okay," she said.

One more deep breath and nervousness be damned, he began.

"I love you. I've been in love with you for longer than I probably realize. When I did realize it was last year after the Quidditch finals when I kissed you. All I wanted to do was be with you, be by your side and have you by mine, but you meant too much to me to risk like that. That's why we had that conversation we did after Dumbledore's funeral."

He cleared his throat and caught her eye. "I have no right to ask you to forgive me for bouncing you about for the last year and a half, but I'm going to anyway. I need you to forgive me." He paused, feeling the butterflies in his stomach multiply exponentially. "Above all, Ginny… I need you to marry me."

Dead silence followed his pronouncement as Ginny stared at him, blinking rapidly. "I'm sorry?" she asked. "Is this some sort of joke?"

_I'm doing this all wrong. _He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, knowing it more likely looked slightly sick and nervous. Disentangling his hands from hers, he pulled the ring box out of the pocket he'd stuffed it into after retrieving it from Gringott's, and dropped to a knee.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley… will you marry me?" He opened the box and laid it flat on the hand he extended to her. His mother's engagement ring, gold and elegant, glinted up at her as the sunlight caught on the facets of the single diamond; Harry could see the tiny rainbow playing across Ginny's forehead.

She stared at the ring, eyes wide, then stared at him. Her gaze kept flicking between the ring in his hand and his face. This went on for a long time, long enough that Harry began to feel distinctly uncomfortable and his leg was falling asleep. Proposing on one knee might be terribly romantic, but it was also terribly painful if one didn't move for any length of time. "Err… Ginny? Not to rush you, but if you want to answer 'yes' or 'no' any time soon, I'd appreciate it."

She blinked and focused on him. "You silly, stupid git…"

And just like that, the butterflies all died in his stomach, leaving a heavy, sinking, sick feeling behind. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I understand," he mumbled around the lump in his throat. "I missed my chance." He closed the ring box and stood up. "I'll just leave you to it then, shall I?"

There was a quiet, dangerous note in her voice as she said, "Harry James Potter, if you don't open that box and put that breathtaking ring on my finger _right this instant _I will hex you into the next century."

He blinked, jerking his gaze back to her face. There were tears in her eyes, and her smile… Oh her smile. It filled him up inside with warmth and joy and happiness. He fumbled at the box, finally managing to get the ring out, and slid it on her waiting finger.

He couldn't stop himself from grinning like a fool. "That's a yes then?"

She laughed through her tears, and stepped into his arms. "Oh yes, Harry. That's a yes."

---------------

"Well, I suppose it could have gone worse," Lily said critically, eyeing the couple standing by the lake.

James shook his head remorsefully. "How did all those Potter genes skip his generation? We Potters are supposed to be smooth and suave with the opposite sex, not …" He waved a hand vaguely at Harry and Ginny. "Like that."

"Whatever way he did it, it's managed," Lily said primly, then rounded on her husband. "And you weren't so 'smooth and suave' when you proposed to me, James Potter. Or do I have to remind you of the fact you were shaking so much you dropped your knee onto my foot and couldn't find the right finger to put the ring on?"

"No no," James said, a wary look in his eyes. "That's quite alright, dear."

"Mister Padfoot presents that Mister Prongs was a hopeless git when it came to choosing a wife," Sirius drawled with a wicked grin.

Beside Sirius, Remus chuckled. "Mister Moony seconds the motion Mister Padfoot has presented, and the motion carries."

Dumbledore smiled merrily at them all. "Have you satisfied yourself, Lily?" he asked.

Lily, ignoring her husband and his two friends as they chased each other around the lawn, nodded with a small smile at the Headmaster. "I have," she said. "She'll take good care of him, I think."

"I rather think Miss Weasley will keep your son content for the rest of his life. Not unlike you and James, I believe." He took a last look around at the grounds of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. "I do believe it's time we returned, however. We have been gone quite some time."

"Of course, Albus." And without missing a beat, she turned and bellowed at a volume that would have done Molly Weasley proud: "_James Potter! Get your arse back here now!"_

"Coming dear!"

"I said _now_, James!"

"Ooh, Prongs, you're in for it now!"

"Shut up, Padfoot!"

"Honestly, why I put up with you…"

"…is a mystery to us all, Lily," Dumbledore said with a smile as the five walked towards the gleaming triangle of light that faded into existence in the center of the lawn. "One I'm sure will occupy a great deal of time in order to understand it. Lemon drop?"


End file.
